Day 1 - Dogs Days of August

It’s the Dog Days of August.

Dog Days?

Who in the hell ever starting calling these miserable stretches of heat and humidity Dog Days?

I’m sure it wasn’t some dog, sitting under a porch, panting, wondering if he had energy for the next breath, just laying there, and saying, “These are really the Dog Days, aren’t they?”

I bet it was a cat. Yep, a cat. Some little black pussy cat, sitting in the windowsill, right by the air conditioner vent, feeling the refrigerated air rumple its fur, looking out the window at the dog under the porch, the dog with the tongue laying in the dust. Yep, I bet it was that cat who said, “It is so hot, only something as stupid as a dog would be outside. It sure is a Dog Day!”

Well, heat or no heat, I still had a job to do. Now, where did I put that crow bar? Oh crap, I left it back in the truck. Now I have to sneak back to the truck, over that fence again, (hope I don’t get caught on the barbs again), through the bushes, over to that side street. Sure hope no one sees me, or if they do see me, they ignore me.

Man, me being this stupid makes it a miracle I haven’t spent more time in prison.